The Ultimate Drug
by Javanyet
Summary: Mike knows that Bonnie likes his friend Gram, so he can't understand why his latest visit has upset her so much. One shot. (rated T for references to drug use)


Bonnie had been giving Mike a hard time about the glass house on the cliffside being a "hermitage instead of a home... why don't we ever have anybody over?" So they did, now and then, nothing big, just the guys and their girlfriends of the moment, some fellow musicians passing through town, like that. He'd throw some steaks on the grill, Bonnie would play hostess, and a mellow time was had by all.

When the guys' musical buddy Gram Parsons called to say he was in town Mike invited him out to swap some tunes and experiment with that mix of rock and country that the Monkees had flirted with on a couple of cuts in their recent album (climbing the charts handily, thank you very much). He'd have invited Peter to come and jam, but Pete was off with Micky to San Francisco to explore some new music spots, so it would just be Gram, Mike, and Bonnie. Which was cool, because Mike knew that Bonnie liked Gram, she'd said so more than once. He was a sweet soul even if he did like to party. And good lord, how he _did_ like to party, but so did everyone else on the road. To be honest, Gram's single-minded devotion to booze and "party medication" made Bonnie nervous and she'd mentioned to Mike that it seemed like a criminal waste of all he had to offer the scene. But she liked him in the same way she liked all people with good hearts and generous souls; she just couldn't believe he'd simply handed over a small fortune in string band instruments for use on the latest album, and he'd laughed when she'd offered him even the most casually written list of what they had.

"He's such a sweet kid," Bonnie said one early morning after he'd staggered out of his after-Troubadour-gig party with a (very) young girl under each arm. "Why does he wanna burn himself out like he's running for some messed up finish line?" Nobody disagreed with that image, but there wasn't an answer to be had.

Tonight Gram had insisted on loading the dishes into the dishwasher for her, and had given her a friendly kiss goodnight before Mike walked him out.

After closing the front door he went to the kitchen and found Bonnie at the sink furiously scrubbing something he couldn't quite see.

"Well _this_ was a night worth having again," he observed with a smile, then offered, "Hey mama, need a hand with whatever you're grinding to its death there?"

"I got it, thanks, can you just hand me the dish towel?"

When he did Mike saw she'd been washing the beveled mirrored tray that Gram had been using to line up what he called his "Bolivian marching powder." No, not just "washing"... she'd been going at it like she needed to scrape off even the reflection from its surface.

"Hey careful with that, it ain't stainless steel," he cautioned. In fact it was a French antique.

She set the mirror down on the counter and grumbled, "I wish you'd tell him not to bring his shit here."

Surprised, Mike responded, "What's that mean, you never seemed to mind before."

He was right; she joined in occasionally when the bong came out at Peter's and even found Mike's mouth-to-mouth shotgun maneuver to be shamelessly sexy. But in general getting high just made her sleepy, which seemed to be missing the point. However that wasn't what she'd meant.

"Not _that_ shit," she dismissed, then waved a hand at the now spotless mirror. " _That_ shit. I've seen enough of him to suspect 'gram' is more than just his name, and I've also figured out he is hell bent to booze and snort and God knows what else his way to a dead fucking end even though he could do better, and I'd kinda rather he'd do it somewhere else than here." Her voice was beginning to shake, so she shut up and stood glaring at Mike.

He made the mistake of laughing it off. "Yeah, well, you know Gram, he always has his party in his pocket. It's just who he is."

"But _why_?" she demanded, "How can being wasted and drunk and fucked up most of the time be who anybody _is_ when he could be something better? He could have so much else, so much good stuff in his life, my God Nes he is _magic_ with an instrument in his hands and he sings like an angel, his mind puts things together that never even occurred to _you_ in your most out-there imagination and he's just a _kid_! Why should someone like that who is so sweet and generous and full of music want to kill himself so fast?"

She was clenching her hands so tight on the dish towel her knuckles were white. Unable to figure out what had her so freaked out, Mike reached out to take her fists in his hands but she pulled away.

"Don't you think you're getting a little too uptight?" he chided gently. "A little coke isn't gonna kill him, lotsa people do it, you've seen some of the backup guys on the road, they do it too and they're fine. I mean, you know me and Davy and Mick and Pete, we're not into it, as if we need something wind us even tighter... but it's not gonna kill Gram."

Bonnie was shaking her head. "Maybe you just never got past the party... back in New York I saw plenty of guys like Gram, only they didn't have much to lose I guess. Trust me, that shit'll kill you when you're not paying _attention_!" Her voice was actually getting shrill, bordering on hysterical, and Mike could _not_ understand why she was going off like this.

In fact it was becoming a drag. They'd had a real nice time this evening (or so he thought) and he'd really enjoyed some serious connection with the music and got some great new ideas, and now the Carrie Nation Of The Sixties was coming down with her hatchet like he'd personally corrupted the twenty-year-old prodigy that had just driven off to his next adventure. Adventures that Mike had already observed he and the other Monkees had decided to forego in favor of a more stable career.

"Okay then, since _you've_ 'gotten past the party', why don't you tell me how the hell you know a little coke is gonna kill anyone?"

She flung the dish towel to the floor, stepped up and screamed in his face, _"Because it killed my brother!"_ Then she fled the kitchen in the direction of the deck, leaving a stunned Mike to stare after her.

* * *

He shook off the shock and chased after her, following through the still-open living room slider to find her leaning against the deck rail shaking from head to foot.

"Morris," he began in a cautious voice - _what the hell is going on here?_ \- "what are you sayin'? I thought Benny died in an accident on the way to a gig? You sayin' he o.d.'d?"

She shook her head and when she turned to face him he could see her eyes were running but he was too confused to make a move as her words came out in a rush of ragged breath and tears.

"No, and he didn't do that shit in New York, but after he went to North Carolina and him and his bass player friend Randy met up with some other guys... well they were getting gigs and then they got connected with that chance to record, and they were all real excited about where things were going. I could tell sometimes when he called he was wired fit to blast into orbit, but he promised me it wasn't very often and I believed him, I still do. He was too serious about what he wanted to do... but that night when Randy called and told me about the accident, he sounded so _guilty_ and he told me it was his stuff, he'd lent his axe out for a gig and the guy paid him in coke, and the guy who got them this gig had some of his own, and they all partied some and you know how booze makes you sloppy? Well coke makes you feel like _God_ , and the guy who was driving them and the gear in his van, that's how he was, feeling like God and driving like a maniac and he took a bad corner and rolled the van and..."

"But you said they blew a tire..."

"I made that up, in my head, I made it up so long ago it made it easier, because it was so hard already, I couldn't deal with how _useless_ it all was, it was easier thinking they were on their way to something good, it was all groovy, and nobody's fault." She looked ashamed. "I _lied,_ okay?"

He took her shaking hands in his and promised, "It's okay, you didn't know me that well when you told me, it's okay." He could see something more in her eyes, something deeper. "You didn't even tell Ari?"

"I _couldn't_ ," she wailed, "God if Ari knew it would _kill_ him, if Lulu knew it would break her _heart_ , so I let them think it was just a bad tire, like any other stupid accident, I figured one broken heart in the family was enough, so I lied to everybody." She pulled back and buried her face in her hands, rubbed them over her eyes and through her hair and looked up at Mike in desperation. "I _wanted_ to be able to forgive Randy, but I couldn't, Benny died and Randy _didn't_ and I wanted not to hate him him but I couldn't help it, and I never heard from him after that, and I still wish I could forgive him but I still can't... and it wasn't until Gram started coming around that I got reminded of all of it, see he still has a choice but he doesn't _want_ it, and Benny did but he didn't _get_ it! I know I tell jokes about you can't snort coke through a broken nose and that's what I'd do to all of you if I found out you were fucking with that stuff... but you gotta promise me you'll _never,_ you'll make sure they _never,_ please you gotta promise me!"

Then she stopped talking and grabbed the front of his shirt in both hands.

"Jesus, baby, c'mere." Mike pulled her into his arms even though she was stiff as a board and shaking to pieces and held her as still as he could. "I promise, Bonnie baby I _promise_ I'm never gonna go that way not me or Pete or Davy or Mick, please try to calm down now..." When she hugged tight around his waist he knew she was listening. "Y'know," he bent to whisper against her ear, "if I tell him it hurts you like this Gram'll leave his shit somewhere else when he comes again." She stiffened again but he hugged tighter and told her, "You listen to me, okay, we are not gonna change him because nobody can do that, you gotta take that like it is, but maybe he'll change his mind on his own. He's told me he wishes he had what we have, and okay I know maybe that wouldn't change him either but it changed me plenty and I know it changed you. Look at me darlin'... tell me you hear me, okay?"

Bonnie looked up and got lost in those soft deep brown eyes.

"Yeah, I hear you. I'm sorry I'm such a mess, it was a _good_ night and I didn't mean to ruin it."

"Sshhh, you didn't ruin nuthin' and don't be sorry either. Now how about some sugar, huh?" He kissed her the way he did when there was nothing left to say.

They stood like that for a while. Bonnie pressed her ear to Mike's chest to listen to his heartbeat as he soothed her with his hands and soft Spanish endearments. Sometimes, like tonight, Mike felt outmatched by the years that separated them in ways that the press and the fans and other random questioners didn't consider. The kinds of hurt Bonnie carried went deep, and more years gave it time to go deeper than he could ever possibly reach on his own even if he could see it. So he had to wait for her to bring it to him like she did tonight, and all he could do is try like hell to love it better. He was no genius at life but he'd gotten pretty good at the love part and it always surprised him how that could make up for so much. Now as he felt her sigh and soften in his arms he could tell the storm had passed.

" _Te amo_ Mamadillo," he murmured into her ear and sealed it with a kiss.

" _Tambien_ , Nes."

"Hey, I got an idea," he told her at last when he could see her tears had dried. He turned them so she could see the canyon. "Moon's out... Cobra's got a full tank o'gas, and we got tomorrow off. You up for a night drive?"

"Yeah." She nodded and smiled. "That sounds just right."

He liked it when he got it Just Right.

* * *

They were tearing up the coast with the top down, Bonnie's head resting back on Mike's outstretched arm. He thought she might have fallen asleep when she turned toward him, her voice just barely carrying over the rush of the wind.

"Maybe Gram'll figure it out."

"What's that, babe?"

"That 'love is the ultimate drug'."

Mike shot a sidelong smile at her and gave the back her neck a squeeze before he booted the Cobra into overdrive.

"Somebody oughta put that on a button..."

* * *

 **A/N: Something of an homage to Gram Parsons, the young godfather of country rock who coked and boozed and smack'd his way to an early grave in 1973, robbing the world of more musical genius than anybody has the right to waste.**


End file.
